


Hidden in Velvet

by Oh_Contrary



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drama, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Regency, Romance, Royalty, castle gossip, castle setting, injured keith, rude hoes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Contrary/pseuds/Oh_Contrary
Summary: Prince Lance has moved from his home kingdom of Varadero to Altea to live with his older sister and her new wife. Often bored in a new place, he spends much of his time exploring. One morning after a storm, he finds an unknown horse and their injured rider hiding in the stables. Compassion dictates he save him, offering him refuge in the palace. Little did he know, the man's injuries were only the beginning of their problems.





	1. oh, to begin

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day Lovelies!!
> 
> This is a big ol' debacle i really shouldn't be writing but have been sitting on forever so i figure we might as well. Get read for romance and drama and swordfights and all the other fun things you get to write when you deal with historical fantasy.
> 
> The rating on this Will go up, but for right now things are starting slow and time. No warnings apply yet, but we'll gain those as we go.
> 
> I love you all dearly ♡♡♡  
> ~Tay

Keith awoke slowly, noting first how warm he was, skin brushing against surprisingly soft linens as he shifted. There was a deep pain in his side and an ache in his muscles, but, other than that, he was comfortable, cozy even. It set him on edge. 

He opened his eyes to find himself in a lavishly decorated room. Tapestries hung on the wall across from him on either side of an ajar door. Just past it he could see shining white marble of what was likely a bathroom. Thick brocade curtains hung on one side of the room, assumedly covering tall windows. He looked up, finding the vaulted ceiling as richly decorated as the rest of the room. Even the comforter was heavily embroidered, though soft and warm underneath. He had just moved his arms from beneath the covers when there was a noise across the room. A door slid open and he heard whispers.

“No, Hunk— leave it be. They’ve made perfectly clear this is _my_ issue and I am taking full responsibility. Now shoo!”

“Lance—”

“Shoo!”

Keith nestled back under the covers, watching silently as a young man pushed into the room, a bundle of fabric tucked beneath one arm and a tray in his other hand. He eased in, walking to a corner desk and setting the tray down and the bundle after it. He went back and quietly pushed the door close. Keith stiffened, moving a hand to his waist for his knife— only to realize he’d been stripped to his breeches. He fought not to snarl, settling back down. The boy unfolded the bundle, holding up a torn shirt with a frown. He balled it back up, putting it in the chair, before grabbing the other half and unfolding Keith’s pants. He draped them over the back of the chair, before disappearing into the doorway on the other side of the room. Keith heard muttering for a long minute before the boy emerged again, carrying another shirt. He held it up, grabbed the torn one, and compared them.

“That’ll be too small,” Keith rasped, throat dry. The boy jumped with a yelp, dropping both shirts. He fumbled to pick them up, looking to the bed. He smiled shakily.

“You- you’re awake!” he said, placing both shirts in the chair. He walked towards the bed, a small smile curving full lips. “I’m glad. We weren’t sure when you would recover—“

“Stop,” Keith said sternly. The boy froze at the bedside. 

“S-sorry, I—”

“Who are you?” Keith said, trying to push himself up.

“Please—” he said, reaching forwards. Keith sent him a glare and he pulled his hands back. “Please, you’ll reopen your wounds—”

“Who are you?” Keith repeated, voice stern.

“My- my name is Lance. Lance McClain. I’m from Varadero. Now please, will you lay back down—”

“Where is this place? Where are my things?”

“This is Altea Manor. Your horse is in the stables and I have all your things—”

“Get them,” Keith growled.

“If you lay back down,” Lance said. 

“Now!” Keith snapped. Lance shrunk back with a flinch.

“Please do not yell at me,” Lance said quietly. “I can get your things, and you can even leave if you wan’t— I don’t advise it, they say your wounds are bad and this is the first time you’ve been awake in a week—” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “But I _can_ get your things. Now would you please lay down?”

Keith took a deep breath, lowering himself slowly back onto the pillows. He suddenly realized that he was sweating, his heart pounding in his chest and the pain in his side was worse. He pushed the blankets down, trying to get some air and saw the bandages wrapped tight around his middle. There was a smattering of red dots showing through.

“Oh, heavens,” Lance cursed, coming to sit beside Keith on the bed. He carefully looked at the smattering of dots and sighed. “Let me get new bandages.” He crossed the room to the desk, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a roll of bandages. He came back to the bed, gently raising Keith's torso and rearranging the pile of pillows to support him. Lance sat on the bed by Keith's hip, reaching for the new bandages and setting them on the bed. He reached for Keith's old ones, unwrapping them gently. 

Keith watched him carefully, measuring the boy in front of him. Even in his injured state, he couldn't bring himself to see him as a threat. He was young, slight of figure, and with a softness to him that spoke of sheltered nobility. His fingers were soft and cool as they ran over his skin. He sighed as he unbandaged the wound. 

“I'll have to call Coran for another poultice for it,” Lance said, turning to stand from the bed. 

“No,” Keith said, grabbing Lance's wrist. “No one else,” he panted, sweaty fingers slipping against his wrist. 

“I can't make a poultice in my own—”

“Please, just— No, it's not- not safe.”

“Not— what?” Lance asked, clearly puzzled. He sat back down on the bed. “You're perfectly safe here,” he said, brushing cool fingers over Keith's damp forehead. “Whatever hurt you is gone. You've been safe here for a week, and you'll be safe here for as long as you need.” He stood again, tugging his hand from Keith's grip. “Now I'm going to go get help.”

Keith tried to speak again, but his head was heavy, mouth hanging open uselessly as he watched Lance slip out the door. 

The next time he awoke, it was dark, and there were sounds coming from the hallway. Lance entered again with yet another silver tray. He shut the door quietly and crossed with his tray— a single flickering candle lighting the way— and set it on the nightstand. He lifted a washcloth out of a small bowl, wringing it out gently before turning and laying it over Keith's forehead. 

“How are you feeling?” he whispered, smoothing a hand under Keith's chin to check his temperature. Instead of answering, Keith narrowed his eyes at him. 

“You aren't a maid. Why is this your duty?”

“I found you in our stables and insisted on helping you, even though my advisors disapproved. Only Coran said yes and, since he's Allura’s right hand they had to say yes, but no one wanted to approach you, so me and Coran have been taking care of you.”

“Allura. Why is that name familiar?”

“She's the current ruler of Altea,” Lance said simply, rearranging the pillows and helping Keith sit up. 

“Altea,” Keith repeated sleepily. “So far south.”

“Far south from where?” Lance asked, reaching for the tray and pouring a cup of clear broth. “Your homeland?”

Keith said nothing, simply watching the other boy. Lance sighed. 

“You spiked a fever and have been asleep for the past two days. Will you drink some soup for me? Or some water?” Again, he said nothing, ignoring both Lance and the mug he offered. “Please, you must be hungry. And the fever’s been dehydrating you. You need to put something in your body. I'm only trying to help.”

“Forgive me,” Keith said plainly, “but I don't believe in benevolent strangers.”

“What does that mean?”

“You have to have an ulterior motive.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “If I were truly cruel, I would never have saved you in the first place. You're a secretive drifter in the royal palace. If anyone has ulterior motives, it has to be you. You haven't even told me your name.”

“You've never asked it,” Keith said sleepily. Lance was quiet for a moment, shocked by the truth of the statement, before he let himself smirk. 

“Well, how could I have cruel things to demand of you if I'm entirely unaware of even the simplest of details. As far as I know, you are penniless and without a title. The very most I could take from you is your horse, who honestly is a temperamental thing hardly worth the trouble.”

A sleepy smile spread over Keith's face. 

“Well, you obviously are lying about being a prince. No true noble has so wicked an attitude.”

“I don't have a wicked attitude, simply a wicked tongue,” Lance said, barely withholding a pout. 

“So you've heard that before, then. That's a prepared response.”

Lance ignored him, picking the mug back up and attempting yet again to get him to eat. “Besides, I never said I was a prince.”

“Well, you certainly don’t work,” Keith said through a yawn. “Hands as soft as yours? No tools but maybe a writer’s quill.” His eyes closed tiredly and Lance was grateful for it, as his cheeks were surely reddening.

“I don't know where you get this energy when you haven't eaten in days,” he scolded, voice barely hiding his sudden nervousness. 

“I've been in far worse conditions than this,” Keith huffed, opening one eye at Lance. 

“A soldier then?” He received no answer. Lance sighed, giving the man a firm look before lifting the mug of broth to his own lips and taking a sip. He lowered it again, smiling as his charge finally seemed to consider the mug’s contents. “I can't make you trust me, but I hope I can at least get you to eat.” He offered the mug again, letting a small smile cross his face as Keith leaned forwards, accepting it and drinking slowly.

“I also brought water and tea,” Lance said, leaning over the tray and pouring a cup of each. 

“Water,” Keith said between mouthfuls. Lance held up the cup of water, taking a sip himself before offering it to Keith. He traded him for the empty mug, pouring him another mug of broth as he finished the water. 

“More soup?” Lance asked, taking the cup away. Keith shook his head, leaning back against his pillows with a tired sigh. He looked tiredly at Lance. 

“You've been taking care of my horse?” He asked, brows furrowing. Lance nodded, rearranging the pillows yet again so Keith could lay back down. 

“I go out sometimes with the stable boy. He's good at his work, but she's… testy. Nearly didn't let me near you that first night. He asked for a hand with her.”

Keith simply hummed and nodded tiredly. Lance re-wet the washcloth from earlier, laying it gently over Keith's forehead. He pulled the covers up over his chest. Lance's eyes roamed his drawn face and he barely resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. He clenched his fingers in the fine fabric of the duvet just to keep them from tracing up the tantalizing scar up his cheek.

“What's your name?” Lance asked, voice barely a whisper. 

The man said nothing, breath already deep and easy with sleep. 


	2. What's in a name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies!
> 
> I'm sick and the semester is trying to kill me so you have to be Extra sweet on me in the comments, okay?
> 
> This chapter is a lot of worldbuilding! we get to know this version of Lance and his current environment. No additional content/trigger warnings, but as always, let me know if there are any I should add.
> 
> Y'all are the wind beneath my leathery, bat-like wings.  
> ♡Tay♡

Keith woke the next time to sunlight streaming into the room. He looked around the room, stiffening when he found not Lance but an unfamiliar man standing at the desk.

“Sorry for the light,” he said without turning around. “But Lance was worried about your wound again, and I needed to see to check you over.”

Keith looked down his chest, surprised to find his bandages separated and his stomach bare. He could see clearly the gash along his side. It was beginning to heal in some spots,  though still swollen and irritated in others. He looked away, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. He took a shuddering breath, hating the way his heart sped up at the memory of the fight. He could barely remember escaping, nearly certain that he would bleed out before he found shelter from the storm that night.

He shook himself, trying to clear his mind of the foul memories. 

“Where’s Lance?” he asked, voice raspy as it left his throat. 

“He had a meeting this morning and is, much to his disappointment, indisposed. Though I’m certain he’ll be up just as soon as he’s free.”

“What type of meeting?” Keith asked reluctantly, hating himself for being so curious about the other young man.

“We’re hosting a ball next week, and some guests are already arriving to stay in the castle and take leisure in Altea for the week leading up to the ball. As the visiting prince, it has become his job to receive them.”

“So he is a prince,” Keith wondered aloud. Coran turned to him with a slight smile, a small bowl in his hands.

“Yes, though not officially of Altea. He’s joined the kingdom by marriage.”

“You’re being rather candid with a stranger in your house.”

“You’ve been forced to trust us an awful lot. The least I can do is be honest with you.”

“So you’re the advisor who let me stay?” Keith asked, turning to watch as the old man rounded the bed to his injured side and rearranged the blankets, covering Keith for warmth while still allowing him to see the full breadth of the wound. He slowly began to apply the new combination of herbs and oils to his wound.

“Coran Wimbeldon-Smythe, at your service.”

“If you’re the one in charge, why is this—”

“My responsibility? You asked Lance the same thing. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but he’s a rather compassionate boy. The rest of the council wasn’t keen on helping him, but I have the experience to be of service and the heart to see him happy. It was a natural progression.”

“When you say the experience—”

“I was Alfor’s second in command long ago and have seen plenty of fights and even more wounds. This was my basic training.”

Keith only nodded, laying still and staring up at the painted ceiling while Coran worked. Finally, he began to re-bandage the wound, helping Keith sit up against the pillows so he could wind the bandages around his torso. Lance came in as they were finishing up, carrying a tray with soup and toast.

“Everything alright in here?” he asked easily, coming and setting the tray on the bedside table.

“Fine,” Coran said, narrowing his eyes at Lance. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs?”

“Oh, Lady Nyma decided to go lay down for a bit in the guest quarters, so I figured I’d come check on our patient.” He rounded the bed, sitting on Keith’s non injured side and leaning close. As if on instinct, his hand found Keith’s forehead, checking his temperature before sliding back to brush through his hair. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

“Exhausted,” Keith answered, hating how he was driven to honesty. He couldn’t tell if it was the boy’s presence or his temperature, but his waking hours now felt exceptionally vulnerable.

“That’ll be the fever,” Lance said, sitting back. He leaned to the nightstand, pouring a cup of soup. “And you’re dehydrated,” Lance added, pouring a cup of water. He brought it to his own mouth, taking a pointed sip before offering it to Keith. He took it without issue, finishing the cup and even a second before laying back against the pillows. 

Coran simply watched as Lance continued to coax their stranger into drinking some soup before he finally pushed the mug away, closing his eyes yet again and slipping into a doze. Lance sat on the bed, watching the strange man fondly for a long moment.

“What did Lady Nyma say, Lance?” Coran asked easily. The boy startled, rising quickly from the bed and grabbing the tray he’d brought.

“Nothing,” Lance insisted. “She was simply tired from a long day of travelling and wanted to rest before dinner.”

“Lance,” Coran sighed, also rising from his perch.

“Not everything is a disaster, Coran. Sometimes duchesses really are tired,” Coran simply watched, amazed how Lance, so young for being displaced to an entirely new kingdom, could ignore the fine tremors in his hands and lie so convincingly that he was fine. It worried Coran beyond belief. Nevertheless, he only nodded and following Lance out of the room. 

They walked in companionable silence down to the servant’s quarters, where Lance stored the undrunk soup and poured himself a cup of the untouched tea. Coran pursed his lips, watching the familiar routine of Lance withdrawing. 

When Allura had been courting Veronica, he’d met the boy in Varadero and had been charmed by his bright personality and openness. He was the youngest of four, his other siblings all marrying off and moving up the ranks while he remained the quintessential, spoiled youngest child. He’d had every luxury afforded royalty, in addition to the guidance of his elder siblings. It had made him witty and spirited, yet clever beyond what many would think of someone whose looks were often their first mentioned attribute. In a way, it was a pity.

When Veronica had suddenly announced that she wanted to move Lance to Altea, Coran had been concerned but, seeing no reason to contest it, agreed to prepare a suite in the east wing for him. 

When he’d arrived, he’d been surprised to see how he had dulled. Now, he simply looked across the table at Lance and sighed, missing the bright young man he’d barely gotten to know. There were glimmers of him, yes, but so fleeting and rare that Coran worried that the cruelty of others had harmed him irreparably.

“You’re giving me that look, Coran,” Lance said over his cup of tea. Coran shook himself, gifting him a small smile and shaking his head.

“No look,” he promised. “Simply an old old man getting lost in his thoughts.” Lance gave him an easy smile.

“You’re not old, Coran,” Lance said with a small giggle.

“You just haven’t been here that long, love,” Romelle said, swirling into the room in a huff, her long blonde a hair a wave of perfume behind her. “Be here long enough and this one—" she pointed to Coran “—will be grandfather-ing you in a heartbeat.”

“Lady Romelle, that’s not a real word,” Coran scolded with a huff. Romelle only giggled. 

“See what I mean?” she gave Lance a bright smile and a wink, “Pour me a cup?” Lance grabbed another teacup and poured Romelle a cup of tea as she rummaged in the cupboards for a jar of jam. She cut thick slices of bread off a nearby loaf and set them on the counter before slipping onto the stool beside Lance. He hadn’t known her, or anyone else in the castle, long, but he loved her bright energy and unapologetic attitude.

“You two really shouldn’t sneak into the kitchens quite so often. Shay will have nothing left to cook with,” Coran scolded gently, dipping his finger into the jar of jam and taking a taste. They all laughed, and Lance felt a swell of gratefulness to them for keeping him from being alone. He listened eagerly to Romelle’s gossip from around the castle and her own manor nearby, nearly getting lost in the easy flow of the conversation before she turned to him.

“Speaking of dreadful relatives, I’m so sorry for my dreadful cousin, Lance.”

“Allura?” Lance said, brow furrowing. 

“No, of course not. Luka. She’s been a right bitch to you—”

“Romelle!” Coran scolded.

“It’s true! Just today she called Lance a tart for sitting with lady Nyma upon her arrival and said she was going to tell Dayak about his ‘inappropriate flirtations.’ That’s the behavior of a bitch Coran. She’s more than earned the word, judgy obnoxious thing. Lance, if that wretch or Dayak says so much as says a word to you, tell me. I’ll set Luka straight.” 

Lance stuttered out a thanks and Romelle laid a hand on his arm, rubbing gently to console him before continuing on with her gossip. Lance listened half-heartedly, stomach turning with shame. 

Finally, the afternoon passed them by and Shay bustled into the room, shooing them all away so she and her brother could get started on that evening’s dinner. Lance walked through the halls with Coran and Romelle, delivering Romelle to her favorite sitting area for the evening and promising to see her at dinner. She kissed both him and Coran on the cheek before retiring. 

They proceeded through the halls in silence, Coran walking Lance to the royal suite. It was usually Allura and Veronica’s room, but with them away from the palace and Lance’s own room occupied, Lance had been staying there. 

“Will I see you before dinner?” Coran asked, the words so gentle they nearly hurt again.

“Er, no, I- I think I’ll read for a while. Veronica handed me a novel she thought I’d like before they left and I haven’t started it yet.”

“Very well,” Coran said, bowing slightly. Lance had told him before it was unnecessary, but Coran insisted it was (and even if it weren’t it was a long-standing habit). “As always, let someone know if you need anything. I’m always here to listen, Lance.”

“Thank you Coran,” Lance said quietly before slipping between the grand doors and closing himself in the quiet room. He sighed, kicking off his shoes and crossing to the great bed. He flopped face first onto the plush comforter.

He felt a bit like crying, but didn’t allow himself to. Dinner that night was with the council and they already didn’t think well of him. The last thing he needed was to show up with puffy, red eyes. Instead, he actually did grab the book Veronica had given him and read. He only made it a chapter in before he dozed off. He was awoken in the evening by Hunk.

Lance could help but smile at his guard. Hunk’s mother was the cook in their castle in Varadero, and he and Hunk had been friends since they were young. When Hunk had decided to join the army, Lance had cried for two days before convincing his father to have him trained as a guard. Now, he was Lance’s personal bodyguard. It gave Hunk the training he enjoyed while keeping Lance close to his best friend.

“How long until the sharks?” Lance asked. Hunk only chuckled.

“You’ve got about an hour before dinner, but knowing Dayak, anything less than ten minutes early is late.” Lance groaned, flopping back against the pillows and laying his arm over his eyes.

“I left Varadero to escape the judgement of high society and instead moved in with it.” He felt the bed dip in a familiar way, and turned on instinct towards Hunk.

“You just need to give Altea more time. You’ll come into your own again.” Lance bit his lip to keep it from quivering.

“How are you so sure?” he asked, voice shaking and giving him away.

“Lance, you’re a firecracker,” Hunk said, a smile in his voice. “You’re my best friend for a reason. You’ll make friends here too.”

“I doubt Dayak wants to be my friend."

“Well Dayak doesn’t want to be anyone’s friend.” That won a chuckle from Lance and Hunk gave him a smile. “Now go get ready. Shay’s got a beautiful roast waiting.”

Lance sat beside Coran at dinner, welcoming his steady presence as Dayak droned on and on about propriety over the five courses. Luka nodded along sagely the entire time before adding her own reasonable monotone to the conversation. 

“It’s important for next week’s ball that all of us, especially those of us who are younger and more prone to foolishness, are on our best behavior.” Lance clenched his fist under the table to keep from reacting, letting his face stay carefully neutral. Across the table Romelle coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like “bitch” and Lance couldn’t help but smile into his wine. Dayak made a stern noise in the back of her throat and they both calmed, turning to the remainder of their roasts.

“Lance,” she said sternly, forgoing his title entirely. “I will have a series of papers delivered to your quarters. This is a list of names for all the guests we are expecting. Please memorize them. You will be quizzed at next week’s council meeting.”

“Yes Lady Dayak,” Lance said plainly, nodding from across the table. 

“This is of the utmost importance, Lance. We cannot have you unaware.”

“Yes, Lady Dayak,” he repeated, barely keeping his frustration out of his voice. She simply huffed, ignoring him and silently tapping a finger against her wine glass. In a moment a servant came and refilled it. Dayak continued to speak, largely to the other council members about upcoming political events and other affairs in the kingdom. Lance finished his meal quietly, listening halfheartedly to the conversations around him.

Dessert passed without consequence or snide comment and Lance made a grateful escape at the end of the meal, only to arrive in his bedroom and realize no one other than Romelle or Coran had said a single kind word to him the entire meal. The rest of the council had said a few different things _about_ him, and Dayak had offered her critical advice, but no one had so much as asked how his day was. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Hunk said, reading Lance’s mood perfectly. “You’re still new to the castle and—”

“I’ve been here a month, Hunk. That’s two council dinners and four weekly meetings.They can at least make polite conversation.” He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it on the floor, unbuttoning his shirt collar and running his fingers through his hair. He went into the bathroom, looking at the beautiful tub and walking back out to Hunk. He hugged his arms against his chest, looking surprisingly small given his height. 

“Who do I ask to have a bath drawn?” he asked quietly. “I’d like a bath.”

“I’ll tell Florona,” Hunk said with a nod. He turned to leave the room.

“Hunk—” Lance called, cutting himself off. His hands clenched around his arms. On instinct Hunk crossed to him, pulling him into a long hug.

“Things will get better Lance,” he said gently. “They always do.” Lance leaned gratefully into Hunk’s familiar arms, giving the other boy a firm nod when he pulled away. Hunk gave him a smile.

“I’ll go fetch Florona. Do you want anything from the kitchens?” Lance shook his head, before stopping.

“I’ll actually head down there myself, thanks.” Hunk rolled his eyes but insisted on walking him and they meandered through the quiet halls together. Hunk left Lance in the kitchens with Shay, heading down through the servant’s quarters to fetch Florana.

Shay turned from her stove and gave Lance a smile. 

“There’s a tray already prepared, Prince Lance,” she said easily, gesturing over her shoulder to the silver tray on the counter.

“Thank you, Shay,” Lance said. Picking the tray up easily and sliding out the door. Hunk was waiting for him out in the hall. He sent an easy wave to Shay and the chef gave him a smile that set Hunk’s cheeks alight. Lance bit his lip to keep from grinning, walking slowly away and leaving Hunk to catch up.

Lance balanced the tray carefully as they made their way through the halls. Hunk opened the door to Lance’s bedroom, silently letting him in and leaving him alone with his charge. 

The room was dark; the only light came from the candle on Lance’s tray. Nevertheless, Lance saw immediately when the man turned his head on the pillow.

“Lance?” that gravelly voice rasped. Lance nodded uselessly before finding his voice.

“It’s me,” he whispered, easily crossing the dark room and setting the tray beside the bed. He looked down at the man, his dark hair like ink in the candlelight. Lance lit a second candle, widening their circle of light and looking down into the stranger’s wide eyes. He frowned to see the thin sheen of sweat of his face, hand moving on instinct to his forehead. He swiped his fingers easily over the clammy skin, knowing that this had to be one of two things: the fever increasing, or its last vicious burst before it broke. 

“How are you feeling? Better or worse?” he asked, sliding onto the bed beside him.

“Tired,” he said, the words little more than an exhale. “Tired to my bones.”

“It’s possible your wound is infected,” Lance said, pity lacing his voice. He wet a washcloth, patting along his face and gently brushing back the wisps of his hair sticking to his damp skin. “I’m hoping your fever will break tonight. If not, we may have to call a doctor from town—”

“No one else,” he rasped, that same hard paranoia creeping into his voice. 

Lance clenched his jaw. “I can’t make any promises. If you need more help, I’ll get it for you.”

“Why—” he cut off on a weak cough and Lance quickly poured him a cup of water. 

“Drink,” Lance said, shifting to cradle him in his lap and offering a cup of water. The man took it without hesitation, finishing the cup in slow sips. Lance held him for a quiet minute after, waiting for him to inevitably speak again. His breath grew easy as he lay over Lance’s legs, and Lance nearly thought he’d fallen asleep when— 

“Why are you so committed to helping me?”

Lance wished he could be shocked by the question, but given the stranger’s air of distrust he could only shake his head sadly in the darkness. Almost on instinct, Lance’s hand found his hair, fingers sliding through the dark tresses with ease. 

“You were alone. And you were hurting. Those were things I could fix.”

The stranger huffed a cruel laugh, shaking his head before leaning back into Lance’s gentle touch. 

“You must be younger than I initially thought. You’re far too trusting. You’re heart is dangerously pure.”

“There’s no danger in compassion,” Lance said quietly. The stranger’s eyes opened, nearly glowing yellow in the candlelight as he looked up at Lance. They searched his face for a long moment before sliding closed once more. 

“That naïveté could get you killed one day.”

Lance stiffened. He’d been told more than once that he was too trusting, and on one wicked occasion had felt the devastation of having that trust betrayed. Yet, no matter how he tried, his foolish heart remained open to all. 

“Perhaps,” he mused quietly, fingers still playing in the ink of the man’s hair. “But you don’t mean me any harm.” And as Lance said it, he knew somehow that it was true. The stranger sighed, shaking his head before laying still and quiet in Lance’s lap. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he said after a while, and something warm bloomed in Lance’s chest.

They lingered in silence, his head a warm weight in Lance’s lap as he helped him drink more water and eat a bit of soup, stroking soothing fingers through his hair whenever he began to shiver from the fever. Finally, his breath began to slow again and Lance slid from the bed, rearranging the pillows beneath his head and pulling the blankets up over his chest. 

“Thank you, Lance,” he sighed. 

“You’re welcome…” Lance trailed off, turning and blowing out one of the candles, setting the other back on the tray. Its flicker was warm in the dark room, the flame nearly as hot as the question pushing from Lance’s mind to his lips—

“What’s your name?” 

The stranger smiled sleepily, a hum rumbling out of his chest. Lance fidgeted, unsure if he was being laughed at. 

“My name is Keith.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an ending! What'd you think? Tell me in a comment or come see me on [tumblr](https://profoundprincessface.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think? What was your favorite part? Are you excited? Let me know in a comment or come see me on [tumblr](https://profoundprincessface.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡


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